


He is the Ocean (And I'm Good at Drowning)

by banditess



Category: Ni no Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom (Video Game)
Genre: All the Things That Make Life Fun, Dom/sub Play, Feels, Gags, Hair-pulling, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Quiet Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Spoilers, implied polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banditess/pseuds/banditess
Summary: Set in the time between Chapters 6 & 7, so Major Spoilers for all of Chapter 7!Roland meets with Leander to work out some details for their upcoming Top Secret Mission, but it turns out Leander had abit morein mind for their meeting than Roland was prepared for -- not that he's complaining or anything...





	He is the Ocean (And I'm Good at Drowning)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! I finished this game months ago but I am a notoriously slow writer so I have only just now been able to bring this offering to the fandom. This is my first time writing for Ni no Kuni 2 so I apologize for any mischaracterization. There just...needs to be more Rolander in the world. *sobs quietly over this ship*
> 
> Please enjoy! ♥

Roland pulled his cloak around his shoulders and let himself into the yard of the Goodfellows Inn, softly locking the gate behind him. Construction had only just finished on the new building, and he -- the Chief Consul -- had yet to give the go-ahead to open the inn for the general public’s use. Roland tried to do his due diligence and check each new facility himself to make sure the structure was sound first -- he'd never forgive himself if anyone was injured on his watch, after all. Sure, the middle of the night _did_ seem like an unorthodox time for an inspection. But what better way to ensure that no one would enter the inn early and be hurt, than to do it while the rest of the kingdom slept?  
  
Or at least, that’s what he had told Evan. It was mostly true -- it just wasn’t the _whole_ truth.  
  
He entered the dark inn, leaving the door open just a crack behind him. Peeking out into the yard, his eyes darted from the high walls of the Square to the crates in the yard, scanning the immediate area for movement, observing the surroundings for anything amiss. A fleeting memory of his own loyal Secret Service members performing similar checks for him flashed in his mind. He tried desperately not to think about what had happened to them, after the missiles… Clutching at his aching heart, he pushed the thoughts away, locking them outside as he shut the door behind him. He was satisfied enough that he hadn’t been followed.  
  
Leaning back against the door, Roland took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It wasn't just the dim lighting though, he realized. What he really needed was a moment to adjust to this _new development_ , although they'd been planning it -- in theory and in conversation, if not on paper -- for weeks now.  
  
The moon lit a path across the room, guiding him towards the grand staircase that served as the heart of the inn. He ran his hand over the smooth hardwood railing, admiring its craftsmanship as he ascended to the second floor landing. He made a mental note to compliment Niall and Chi Pi on their exemplary work, once this matter was done.  
  
At the end of the hall, beyond several other guestrooms, was…yet another room. From outside, it seemed identical to the ones he had passed along the way; the patterns carved into this door's panels were no more elaborate than the others, and no less so. But if Roland's blueprints of the inn were accurate, and if all was going according to plan, then --  
  
Roland twisted the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand -- unlocked. Cautiously, he opened the door.  
  
Behind it, he found what he was looking for: the inn's suite, its largest guestroom -- and a man in dark, umbral robes, a cloak with a hood pulled up over his head. He sat at the foot of the suite's large bed, hands folded in his lap.  
  
“Chief Consul,” the hooded man greeted Roland with a small, seated bow, “thank you for agreeing to meet me here.”  
  
“Of course. It’s for everyone’s benefit,” said Roland appreciatively. He pulled out a chair from a nearby table set and folded his own cloak over the back of it before sitting down, a stern expression settling over his face.  
  
“Indeed,” said the hooded man.  
  
“I wish we didn't have to do it this way, though.” Roland crossed his arms with a resigned sigh. “Since we’re meeting, I thought we should negotiate some terms.”  
  
“‘Terms’? What did you have in mind, Consul?”  
  
“Things are going to get complicated. That in mind, it might be a good idea to have a sign of some kind between you and I. Something that we can use to let each other know if we can't go any further -- or any _deeper_.” Roland paused a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “No one but us can know about this, but if at any point something goes wrong, we should have some way to signal that we’re _ourselves_.”  
  
Roland heard the man clear his throat under his hood.  
  
“Consul, permit me to clarify… Are you suggesting we establish a _safe word_?”  
  
He laughed, a devilish look crossing his face. “Well, when you put it that way… Yes, that's exactly what I think we should do. But that begs the question, Leander -- how do _you_ know what a safe word is? Do you use one _often_ with Her Majesty?”  
  
Leander's hood fell back as his throat-clearing became a full-blown coughing fit of uncharacteristic self-consciousness. Roland had mostly been teasing, but he seemed to have hit the proverbial nail on the head.  
  
“Don't worry, Junior Consul -- your secret's safe with me.”  
  
“What gave it away, if I may ask?” Leander carefully slid his glasses off. He pulled a small white cloth (a handkerchief, monogrammed by the look of it) out of his pocket. Delicately, he wiped a smudge from one lens and returned the glasses to his face.  
  
“Heh. You're not the only one who’s a few years older and _more experienced_ than he looks, remember?” Roland smirked. “You and Her Majesty obviously have a unique bond, and it’s clear you care for her very much. But when we faced Doloran in the Abyss, you seemed, ah...maybe a bit _too_ excited about the idea of _surrendering_ to her. I take it she’s pretty enthusiastic about being in control? Anyone who can make laws that strict and actually _abide_ by them too would have to be.”  
  
Leander’s shoulders relaxed. He exhaled as though he'd been holding his breath for three hundred years.  
  
“What we did together was merely a means of catharsis…the first two or three times,” he explained, sighing at the memories. “But I truly do love Nerea, and I really would do anything she asked of me -- so naturally, it developed into something more _complex_.”  
  
“By ‘complex,’ you mean…?”  
  
“I mean that she has been my Mistress, and I her servant, for some time now -- I've lost track of the precise number of years.”  
  
“It seems like that kind of goes against the ban on love and romance, doesn't it?”  
  
“Not at all. The point of the ban was to inhibit procreative activities, so as to keep the population stable,” Leander clarified. “Her Majesty occasionally using me as a footstool is…not likely to result in children.”  
  
“Ha! Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Roland rubbed his thumb against his chin, considering this new information. “Well, with all that in mind, it seems to me that you and I should be careful to choose a different word to use together than what you use with her. That's for the two of you alone. You wouldn't want to sully something so special with business like this.”  
  
Leander looked up at him with stars in his eyes. “Roland…”  
  
“Which brings us back to our problem: What might be a good safe word in this situation, huh?” Roland asked. “What’s something we wouldn't just say out of hand in the course of a normal conversation…”  
  
Leander pushed his glasses up. “It's difficult to say, given that you and I both handle such a variety of Evermore's day-to-day functions. One moment we may be discussing foreign affairs. The next we might find ourselves conversing about the current state of the socktopus market.”  
  
“It's never a dull moment, that's for sure.” Roland paused, contemplating. “What about something from my world? Something that doesn't exist here? You can't casually talk about something if it doesn't exist, right?”  
  
The gears in Leander's head turned. “That could work. Obviously, you will need to choose -- given that I am unfamiliar with the topic at hand.”  
  
Roland got up from his seat and paced to the window, looking out at the yard below. After a few moments’ silence, he snapped his fingers in the air. “I've got it.”  
  
“Yes? What is it?”  
  
“‘ _Unicycle_.’”  
  
“And…what is that?”  
  
Roland suddenly realized he had yet to see a bicycle in this world either, making this _far_ more challenging to explain. But Leander was clever, and there were _definitely_ carts here -- there were _airships_ and _fission reactors_ , for goodness’ sake! -- Roland had faith he would follow along.  
  
“It's technically a vehicle. But it's only got one wheel, and you have to balance on top of it and use pedals to move. It's more for entertainment than for getting anywhere, really.”  
  
Leander blinked, raising an eyebrow. “That sounds ridiculous -- and also like something _no one_ would ever discuss in daily conversation in _any_ world, much less this one.” He nodded. “Alright. ‘Unicycle’ it is.”  
  
“Good. So if anything goes wrong in the next few weeks during my meetings with our _mysterious guest_ , that's what we'll use.”  
  
“Yes. Although I pray we’ll not be needing it…” Leander trailed off.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“However, in the interest of preparedness, I wondered if you might perhaps be amenable to performing a bit of a… _practice run_ , so to speak?” Leander suggested.  
  
“Oh?” It was Roland's turn to raise an eyebrow. “Right here? Now?”  
  
“We do have the space for a few hours yet, before Evermore begins to stir…” Leander gazed out at the silvery moon, gauging the time by methods long-forgotten in Roland's homeland.  
  
It seemed a bit silly, Roland thought, and for a moment he wondered if they were being too flippant about the whole thing, considering they were both playing at treason -- but he trusted Leander. The Archon was a brilliant strategist; probably more skilled than Roland himself, if he was being honest. If he had reason to think it was a good idea for them to “rehearse,” then Roland felt comfortable going along with it.  
  
Besides, it wasn’t like there was a whole lot to do for entertainment in Evermore. Better to take it where he could get it -- lest he eventually end up in the Goldpaw casinos, like other Ministers he might name…  
  
“Alright. I don't see any harm in it.” Roland shrugged. “But just like if this were real, can we agree that either of us can use our word at any time to stop whatever is happening?”  
  
“Most assuredly. I would never wish for there to be discomfort between us,” Leander affirmed.  
  
“Me neither.” Roland smiled warmly for just a beat, before furrowing his brow seriously. “So -- Let's set the scene. I, Chief Consul Roland Crane, am looking to sell my services in exchange for power and cold, hard guilders. You, _mysterious hooded gentleman_ , are here to make me an offer.”  
  
“Such base desires. You sound as though you are quite easily bought, Consul.”  
  
“How do you know? We haven't even started yet.” The corner of Roland's mouth tugged up into a mischievous grin.  
  
Roland hesitated, pausing with his hand on his chin. Something didn’t _feel_ quite right. With a flash of realization, his eyes lit up. Tentatively reaching out to Leander's shoulders with both hands, he took the velvety cloth of his cloak between his fingers.  
  
“May I?” He asked politely.  
  
Seeing Leander nod his consent, Roland leaned forward and pulled the hood back up over his partner's head, as it had been when he'd first come into the room.  
  
“Just to keep things… _realistic_.”  
  
There was no mistaking the small shiver Roland saw run through Leander's body. No mistaking the tightly controlled but very audible whimper from under the hood as Roland’s hands brushed his shoulders.  
  
_Interesting_. Suddenly, he found himself wondering how exactly Her Majesty Queen Nerea _played with her toys_ , so to speak… wondering if she minded if others played with them, too…  
  
Maybe he’d find out for himself. He _was_ rehearsing the role of a _good guy gone bad_ , after all -- shouldn’t that include a certain amount of mischief? How had Leander put it… _‘in the interest of preparedness’_?  
  
Unless… Had Leander already foreseen this? Was that the whole point of this out-of-the-blue “practice exercise” -- did he _want_ Roland to seduce him? And who was really seducing whom, if one party already knew the other would make an attempt and was, in fact, _leading_ them into it?  
  
Oh, he was _clever_ , their Junior Consul. Topping from the bottom -- no wonder Nerea had appointed him as her Archon.  
  
Roland circled the room and pretended to enter from the doorway for the first time, starting their scene afresh.  
  
“Ah,” the voice beneath the hood feigned surprise, “you must be the Chief Consul. I have been expecting you.”  
  
“Call me Roland. I’m here on my own behalf, and no other.” He flung his hand to the side dramatically, as though casting off king and country. “And what should I call you?”  
  
It seemed Leander hadn’t thought that far ahead, as it took the hooded man a moment longer than it should have to answer. “...Cecilius.”  
  
“A pleasure, Cecilius.” Roland held out his hand, and was impressed with how firm Leander’s own handshake turned out to be -- the sign of a good leader. “We both know why we’re here: I have something I think you'll want _very much_.”  
  
“So I have heard. Please, do elaborate.”  
  
“The offer is _yours truly_ \-- with all of my knowledge and resources at your fingertips.” Roland put his hand over his heart and took a half-bow. He stepped closer to the hooded man. “What do you think? Interested in _getting your hands on me_ , Cecilius?”  
  
Maybe he was laying it on too thick -- but he swore he could practically _feel_ Leander sweating in his robe.  
  
“My, what a… _tempting_ proposition you bring me, Consul -- I mean, _Master_ Roland,” Leander corrected himself. (Roland raised his eyebrow imperceptibly, _keenly_ aware of the implications of the title Leander had used, wondering if he _meant_ for him to take it in such a way...) “And what would you ask of me in return? Such an offer cannot come cheaply, to be sure.”  
  
“I’m not asking for much. Money. More power than just the boy-king’s scraps. And one more thing: Your company for the evening. Your ‘services’ in exchange for mine.” Roland grinned, then looked a bit panicked. “Only if that’s something you want, though,” he added quickly, nearly breaking character in the process.  
  
Roland couldn’t remember the last time he’d flirted with anyone other than his wife. Even if he’d misread the situation entirely and was about to be extremely embarrassed, he’d consider the attempt a success -- it had been fun, regardless.  
  
He was relieved when Leander chuckled quietly.  
  
“I am honored that you value my company so highly. From my perspective, it would be but a small sacrifice to pay, that we might gain a priceless ally.” Leander gave him a coy smile. “Though if I may be honest, I find you quite handsome -- so it is really no sacrifice at all.”  
  
Roland's face flushed scarlet at his words. He wasn't one hundred percent certain whether it was Leander or ‘Cecilius’ speaking, but given that he was fairly sure Leander had been planning for this all along… He decided to take the compliment genuinely.  
  
“Excellent!” Roland blurted, half-surprised that any of this was going as planned. “But before we move forward, I just feel like I should ask if there is anyone who might come for my head if we do this? Like I might find myself in a terrible _unicycle_ accident?”  
  
Leander immediately yanked off his hood and jumped up from the bed. “Is everything okay, Roland?”  
  
“Wow -- I’m glad to see our safe word works.” He grinned. “But I really did want to take a second to double-check that, one, _you_ are okay with this and, two, your Queen -- your _fiancée_ \-- would be okay with this.”  
  
“Oh, by the gods.” Leander sighed, deflating slightly, his hands settling on his broad hips. “Half of the reason Her Majesty sent me to accompany you was because she wished for me to experience as much of the world outside as possible before Hydropolis and her citizens fade away into memory. She and I both understood the possibility of those experiences including _seeing other people_. I assure you, Nerea herself has admirers to keep her company as well -- and we are always but a trip door away from one another.”  
  
“Alright. So no unicycle accidents, then?”  
  
“As you noted earlier, no such vehicle exists in this world, correct? So it stands to reason that your safety is, at least in this matter, assured.”  
  
“Good. I'm okay with that. And how about--”  
  
“--As for me, the answer is a very simple ‘yes,’” Leander interrupted, slipping his hood back up. “ _Cecilius_ , on the other hand, would be _much obliged_ if you would care to seal your deal.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Roland chuckled. “I apologize. I guess it _is_ pretty rude of me to keep the representative of my new patron waiting.”  
  
Roland slid an arm around Leander, holding him tight. He blinked, and in the millisecond his eyes were closed he saw his wife, the last time he had held her like this, back before-- _No._ There was a time and a place for those memories, and this was _not it_.  
  
He opened his eyes to the present. Leander had managed to wiggle enough space between them to undo the wide belt holding Roland's blue greatcoat, and was going to work on its large silver buttons. Roland beamed down at him, letting the coat slip from his shoulders and off of his arms as it came loose, leaving just his black shirt beneath. He tossed the coat at the chair with his cloak, along with the belt.  
  
Certainly, they had made camp together enough times by that point that it wasn't the first time Leander had seen Roland without his trusty coat. It was a first for ‘Cecilius,’ however, and Leander played the part well. He ran his hands over Roland's shoulders and down his arms, sucking in an appreciative breath as he squeezed Roland's biceps.  
  
“Like what you see?” Roland asked. The attention made him feel for once like the age he looked, rather than the age he felt inside. He had to admit, it was nice.  
  
Roland put a hand to Leander's cheek, running his fingers along his jawline. He tipped up Leander's chin just slightly, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb.  
  
Leander responded instantly. He rolled his tongue over the tip of Roland's thumb, taking it into his mouth and sucking ever so delicately. Roland wasn't expecting the sensation and nearly bit through his own lip trying to keep his cool. He made a guttural sound that caused Leander to look up at him with sultry eyes and an uncharacteristically playful smirk. Maybe it was just Roland, but it felt like a sudden wave of heat had swept through the room. Had there been kindling in the nearby hearth, it might have combusted, he thought.  
  
Roland curled his fingers into the sash at Leander’s waist, tugging on it to pull him closer. He pressed a single soft kiss to Leander’s lips. Then another. He lingered on the third, and suddenly what had been a few chaste kisses became something passionately _other_ \-- tongues intertwining, teeth grazing lips, fingers digging into fabric and skin. Roland found to his delight that Leander tasted faintly of saltwater; his scent reminded Roland of leisurely days spent at the seashore in times long ago. It was like he’d become one of those mythical humans from his world -- the ones who fell in love with sea-nymphs and were punished by the gods. Despite Leander's assurances, he truly hoped he was not committing some transgression. One could never be too careful -- the gods were ever fickle in those tales…  
  
He could speculate more later. For now, he had _business_ to attend to.  
  
“May I?” he asked, giving Leander’s sash a firm tug.  
  
Leander nodded enthusiastically -- but he might as well not have, as it came undone in Roland’s hands all the same. Roland tossed the sash onto the bed; it was made of linen, soft but sturdy -- something that might come in handy later. Without something to hold it in place, Leander’s robe hung loose where it had previously cinched tightly against his form.  
  
Roland thought about pulling the robe off of Leander himself -- but a better idea came to him. He crossed his arms, leaning back into a confident pose.  
  
“You know, Cecilius -- I was about to help you out of that robe, but you're a perfectly capable adult. Why don't you take it off for me?”  
  
Roland thought he caught a glimpse of a grin on Leander's face as he took a quick half-bow. “It would be my pleasure, Master Roland.”  
  
“That’s what I like to hear. Now take your time -- nice and slow,” Roland clarified, smirking. He sat down at the edge of the bed, where Leander had been sitting when they started their rendezvous. He patted the mattress with his hand. “I’ll be right here.”  
  
Though the black hood was loose enough that Leander likely could have simply pulled it over his head, he instead undid the silver brooch keeping together its edges. The ends freed, he was able then to peel the hood back slowly, lifting it fully from his head without mussing his hair in the slightest. Laying the hood carefully in the chair behind him, he went to work on the robe itself.  
  
Leander bent over briefly, grasping the hem of the robe and pulling it up towards his knees. At the same time, he brought one foot up, resting it on the footboard of the bed -- right next to Roland’s hand. (Roland swallowed an entire lump in his throat. It took great willpower not to immediately run his hand up Leander’s leg… _Damn him!_ ) As he pulled the robe further up, more of what laid beneath became exposed: Leander’s usual white dress socks were tucked into tight black breeches, and a white button-up shirt with a short, standing collar had been tucked into those. Leander discarded his robe atop the hood on the nearby chair.  
  
Roland was about to say _forget it_ and just pull Leander into his lap mostly-clothed when Leander removed his foot from the bed and turned away. Roland could see he was making motions with his hands in front of him, but not what he was doing, precisely -- but his hands came back into view as he began to untuck his shirt, and Roland could see that his sleeves had been unbuttoned. Leander crossed his arms in front of him and pulled his crisp white shirt off from the back. Roland gasped quietly as his eyes ran over Leander’s shoulders, toned from years -- _centuries_ , Roland reminded himself -- of swinging around polearms.  
  
Leander took a moment to fold his shirt and place it with the rest of his clothing. Still facing away from Roland, he stepped out of his buckled shoes, placing them aside, and set to undoing his pants. Thumbs in his waistband, his swayed his hips as he worked them down his legs. Blood rushed to Roland’s cheeks -- and _elsewhere_ \-- as he realized that Leander was bare-ass naked under his breeches. Maybe Roland just hadn’t been paying as much attention to his compatriots’ clothing habits at camp as he thought -- but he was _fairly certain_ that Leander didn’t _normally_ go commando… He shifted in his spot on the bed; he was getting the distinct feeling he’d need to be removing his own trousers soon, or else risk some _serious_ discomfort.  
  
All that remained were Leander’s tall white socks, suspended by garters just below his knees. Deliberately slowly, clearly knowing the view Roland would have, he bent over to start undoing the garters. Momentarily lost in the sight before him, Roland came back to himself as Leander began to release the first clasp. He jumped up from the bed, catching Leander’s wrist before he could undo any of the others. With a firm grip on his wrist, Roland signalled for Leander to stand up -- and Leander obeyed.  
  
“Leave them,” Roland commanded, his other hand hovering just over Leander’s bare hip. “They suit you.”  
  
“Thank you.” Leander blushed at the compliment. “Master Roland, may I turn around? You asked for my services -- I should like to provide them for you.”  
  
“I appreciate that you asked so politely, Cecilius…” Roland traced a line from the space between Leander’s shoulders, all the way down to the small of his back. He chuckled as Leander squirmed. “But no, you may not. _I_ decide when you’ll do what. Is that clear?”  
  
Roland felt Leander shudder against him -- against his now _absolutely rock-hard_ cock. (He thanked whatever God or Gods had seen fit to let him have _that_ part of his youth back, too.)  
  
“Yes, Master Roland.”  
  
Roland decided to push things a little further. “Now that you mention it though, I’m curious to know if things are... _different_ where you’re from. Customs, techniques...”  
  
What he _really_ wanted to know was what sex in Hydropolis had been like for three hundred years when it had technically been _illegal_ , but he didn’t want to come out and _say_ that, precisely. Mostly because they were supposed to be _in character_ , and “Cecilius” would _theoretically_ have no idea about Hydropolitan sexual mores…  
  
Leander turned his head to the side slightly -- just enough to see Roland from the corner of his eye, but not enough to have disobeyed entirely. “Is there anything specific I can _elaborate on_ for you?”  
  
“Hmm,” Roland rubbed faint circles around Leander’s hipbone as he considered. “Well, for example, what’s the protocol for _giving head_ where you’re from?”  
  
Leander did not turn around, but he _did_ tilt his head. “Please forgive me, Master Roland.” His voice was restrained, but Roland could sense an undertone of mild alarm. “I cannot say I know of any nation or culture here that _gifts heads_ as part of their...foreplay. The Wyverns, perhaps?”  
  
It took a moment for the realization of the miscommunication to sink in. Based on a number of Sky Pirate jokes he'd overheard since he had arrived in this world, he'd gathered that oral sex was _definitely_ a thing people did here. Leander's earlier tongue-work confirmed that for him. He just hadn't remembered what they called it in _this_ world. Once that clicked, Roland nearly doubled over with laughter. He settled for resting his forehead on Leander’s shoulder to regain his composure.  
  
“Roland...are you alright? Do you require the use of the unicycle?” He chanced reaching back to put a hand on Roland’s head.  
  
Enjoying the attention, Roland leaned into his touch graciously.  
  
“No, no, I’m fine -- thank you for asking.” He squeezed Leander’s hips, giving his shoulder a quick kiss, followed by more kisses along his neck. “Let's just say I forgot about _regional slang_.”  
  
“Oh. I see. May I ask to what you were referring before, then?”  
  
Roland had stopped to nibble along his earlobe. “No, you may _not_ \--” He grinned as he heard Leander groan quietly. “--because I’d much rather _show_ you.”  
  
He quickly slid off his boots and socks, setting them aside before proceeding. The last thing he wanted was to drag dirt into the Inn’s brand new bed sheets -- though at the rate they were going, it seemed likely they’d be dirtied regardless. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering if he ought to take the opportunity to get out of his own shirt and pants. Anticipating it might be more comfortable for him if he did, he peeled off his top, then loosened his belt buckle and shimmied out of his trousers, leaving everything with his boots.  
  
Having come to this meeting _without_ intentions to seduce his partner in crime, _he_ was at least wearing underpants.  
  
“Cecilius.”  
  
“Yes, Master Roland?”  
  
“You’ve been such a good pet. I want you to turn around now.”  
  
Leander obeyed. Even in the relative darkness, it was easy to see his reaction as he beheld Roland. He had let his arms fall naturally at his sides, leaving no question about the state of his arousal. And Roland, for his part, wasted no time taking advantage of it. He stepped closer to Leander, tipping up his chin with just a single finger. With the other--  
  
Leander gasped sharply as Roland ran the back of his hand lightly along his shaft, as though petting a cat.  
  
“Here is what’s going to happen: I’m going to lay you on the bed, and then I’ll demonstrate for you what it means to _give head_. Pay close attention -- there might be a test later. Do you understand?”  
  
It was very difficult for Leander to answer, as Roland had switched from light touches to full on _stroking_ his cock -- but he was still present enough to remember to respond.  
  
“Yes, Master Roland, I -- _ahh_ \-- understand...”  
  
Roland flashed a roguish look at him. He knelt to pick Leander up -- one arm supporting his knees and the other behind his back, then laid him carefully on the bed as promised. It brought to mind his wedding night, long ago, and how he had carried his wife to their nuptial bed the same way. (Though this was certainly...a _bit_ less vanilla than that night had been.) He climbed into the wide bed from the foot of it, positioning himself between Leander’s legs.  
  
“Here’s the catch, Cecilius,” Roland explained, leaning over to brush strands of flaxen hair from Leander’s forehead. “You might remember that we aren’t supposed to be here at all, much less _together_ \-- so I’ll need you to stay very, _very_ quiet. We don’t want somebody out there to hear something and bust us, right? So if you get too loud, well...I’ll have to stop what I'm doing. I’m sure you don’t want that...so do you think you’ll be able to _control yourself_ for me?”  
  
Leander gestured locking his mouth with a key.  
  
Satisfied, Roland placed a kiss on Leander’s “locked” lips. From there, he left a series of faint kisses down Leander’s body, like a trail on an old map -- _X_ marking the spot where he needed to focus his attention. The trail split at Leander’s chest, Roland’s hand continuing down the trail to one nipple as his mouth found the other. He flicked his tongue across the first while he rolled the second lightly in his fingers. Roland thought perhaps this might have gotten at least _some_ noise out of Leander -- but so far the only response he’d gotten was a lusty gaze.  
  
A tough customer. He’d have to try harder.  
  
He continued making his path of kisses, following the light blond trail of fuzz just barely visible down Leander’s stomach. Leander began to squirm slightly as Roland avoided the main attraction entirely and kissed along his hips, his inner thighs -- everywhere but the spot that near-literally stared him in the face. But while Roland heard a few soft gasps, his partner was still nearly completely silent. Roland was both impressed and concerned. Had he _actually_ locked his lips? With magic, maybe? Because that would have been _cheating_.  
  
Roland supposed it was time to pull out the big guns.  
  
He took just the tip of Leander’s cock between his lips. This was the one place he was unsurprised at the saline taste he encountered, and the deep visceral memories of the ocean it stirred. He circled the head with his tongue, as Leander himself had done slightly earlier with Roland’s thumb, and noticed in his peripheral vision that Leander had gripped the sheets with both hands. He took his time, licking slowly from the root of his shaft to the top. Yet still, not a peep. Only once Roland had proceeded to take Leander’s full length into his mouth did he manage to coax a faint moan from him. _Finally_. He'd broken the spell. He kept going.  
  
“ _Ahh_ …”  
  
Roland stopped abruptly. Eyebrow raised, he shot Leander a warning glance, dick still very much in his mouth. Leander frowned back at him. He gave Leander a few seconds to come down, then returned to his ministrations -- but not before pulling Leander’s legs up and guiding them to rest on his shoulders. It was easy in such a position to trace down along the line that led from the center of his shaft, over his balls (taking a few moments to caress them -- wouldn’t want to leave them out of all the attention), and lightly finger the sensitive spaces beneath...  
  
“Ohh, _gods_ \--” Leander pleaded to the night air.  
  
Roland paused again. He didn’t look up this time -- Leander would know what he’d done.  
  
Roland could tell Leander was making a valiant attempt not to lose himself completely; his hands grasped and pulled at the sheets, and Roland could hear the small strangled noises that escaped him as he tried desperately not to make a sound. Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, Leander reached down and clumsily grabbed for Roland’s ponytail. He wrapped its glossy length around his hand and held it _tightly_ , using the pressure to urge Roland on.  
  
Roland himself couldn’t help but let out an involuntary moan at Leander’s touch. A pleasant, tingling warmth spread from his scalp, inspiring him to pick up his pace. Whether Leander knew it or not, Roland was enjoying the hair-pulling enough that he was almost willing to overlook the fact that Leander's volume was most definitely _increasing_.  
  
_Almost_ willing to overlook it, he emphasized to himself. He didn't stop completely, but he did slow down. All the way down. As though starting over from the very beginning, he began to build up his rhythm once more, sweetly torturing his partner one languorous lick at a time.  
  
When they had reached the point where Leander had begun bucking his hips in time with Roland's strokes, Roland felt Leander's grip on his ponytail tense up suddenly. Glad to return the attention, Roland squeezed him by the hips and dug in, determined. He knew Leander was close -- he could taste just a hint of the sea on his tongue. He chanced a quick glance up; Leander was red-faced, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, his eyes shut tight. The poor man was half-choking on his moans as he tried his _damndest_ (but was failing spectacularly) to stay quiet.  
  
_God_ , there really was something about witnessing someone who was usually _so controlled_ coming _completely_ undone…  
  
“ _R-roland!_ ” Leander yelped, then slapped a hand over his own mouth as he realized what he'd done.  
  
Roland ceased all movement. He waited a few moments before gingerly sliding Leander’s dick out of his mouth and taking it in his hand instead. Leander’s deep, whining groan from behind his hand was palpable.  
  
“Hey, you knew the rules,” said Roland. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back on his heels. “You couldn’t control yourself, so I had to stop. Is that a problem?”  
  
Leander shook his head slowly. He still wasn’t quite back from the brink. “N-no, Master Roland.”  
  
Roland rose from the bed briefly, just long enough to shed his last remaining piece of clothing. His erection sprang up happily as he freed it. He held it lightly as he returned to his place between Leander's thighs.  
  
“You know, Cecilius,” Roland pondered aloud as he absent-mindedly ran one finger in circles up Leander’s stomach, “if I just filled up that handsome mouth of yours, it wouldn't leave you much room to make noise, now would it.”  
  
Leander licked his lips tauntingly. “No, I suppose it wouldn't.”  
  
“And I did say there might be a test, didn't I -- think you can replicate my technique?”  
  
“If it would please you, I will certainly attempt it, Master.” Leander's innocent words did not at all match with his mischievous expression.  
  
Roland grinned. “It would please me a great deal.”  
  
He moved to straddle Leander on the bed. Leander wiggled slightly, adjusting himself to the proper height.  
  
“Give me your hands,” Roland instructed.  
  
Doing as he was told, Leander held out his hands. Roland took them by the wrists and pressed them against the headboard. Leaving one of his hands to hold Leander's in place, he used the other to guide his cock. It wasn't really necessary, though -- Leander was eager, and the moment its head had graced his lips, his tongue was upon it. And _oh_ , but he was _good_. The same silver tongue he used to orate so eloquently was also skilled at tracing loops along his shaft, it turned out. Roland felt that he was about to be a _damned hypocrite_ ; all of their fooling around had him turned on near to bursting, and he knew there was no way he himself would be able to stay silent if he let Leander go on too long. He ran his fingers through Leander’s hair and contemplated his next move -- and the move after that, as all good tacticians do.  
  
Leander was sucking the sheer life force straight out of him when he spotted the sash he had tossed onto the bed earlier poking out from the corner, and knew exactly what to do with it.  
  
“Cecilius.”  
  
Leander looked up at him, but did not stop -- though neither did Roland pause in fucking his face.  
  
“Cecilius, I... _Mm_ \--”  
  
He could have easily kept going, could have let Leander keep performing acrobatics with his tongue til the sun rose or he exploded, whichever came first (it would probably be him). But there were still things he wanted to do.  
  
Mostly, Leander.  
  
Roland released Leander’s wrists from the headboard, bringing them down slowly. He gave Leander's cheek a soft tap. Taking the hint, Leander stopped what he was doing. Roland disengaged fully, then leaned over for a quick kiss.  
  
“There we go.” Roland said, feigning exasperation. “You’re so eager to please, my pet. I appreciate that.”  
  
“You _did_ ask for my services in exchange for yours -- yet you’ve hardly given me the opportunity.” Leander pouted.  
  
“Maybe I’m just feeling extra generous tonight.” Roland shrugged. “Or maybe it’s all a ploy -- really, I just want you to feel like you owe me so you’ll come back for more.”  
  
Leander gasped, chuckling. “How _devious_ you are, Master Roland!”  
  
“Sure am,” he said. “But not _nearly_ as devious as this former ally of mine. You wouldn’t believe it. He lured me into a clandestine planning meeting for an upcoming operation -- and it turned out he was aiming to seduce me the whole time!”  
  
“Surely not!” said Leander, putting a hand to his chest in fake outrage.  
  
“I’m afraid so.” He lowered his voice, as though sharing a bit of juicy gossip. “And I hope he’s not the jealous type, because otherwise he’d be pretty upset about what you and I are about to do.”  
  
Leander squealed as Roland gathered him up and into his lap, leaving kisses on Leander's cheeks and nuzzling into his neck as he did.  
  
“Roland, wait--”  
  
He paused, his arms around Leander's waist. “Yes?”  
  
“I’m not certain precisely what you had in mind...but there is a phial in the pocket of my robe…”  
  
Momentarily setting Leander carefully to his side, Roland retrieved a small glass phial from Leander’s robe. Holding it up to the moonlight, he could see a thick liquid moving inside. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was.  
  
“Is this it?” He handed it to Leander, who nodded. “Heh, you’re devious just like my former ally, aren’t you, Cecilius? Bringing lube to our secret meeting…Why don’t you go ahead and get yourself all slicked up for me then, huh?”  
  
Leander positioned himself face down with his ass in the air. He uncorked the phial and let a bit of the clear fluid flow out onto the tips of his fingers. Roland looked on as he reached back. With a few deft movements he slid one finger in, then a second. It quickly became clear how effective the lubricant was -- Leander’s fingers were having no trouble at all, and his whimpers of pleasure were barely muffled by the bedsheets.  
  
Time for Roland to execute his plan.  
  
“That’s good, Cecilius -- you can stop now.”  
  
He gently removed his fingers and returned to his resting position with a pensive sigh, leaning on his forearms with his ass in the air.  
  
“There's a good boy. Now sit up and lean yourself against the headboard.”  
  
Roland settled in right behind him as he did so, holding on to Leander’s hips. He spoke low, his breath warm against Leander’s ear.  
  
“I’m sure there is some spell in this world that would let me have some kind of _spirit phallus_ so I could keep your mouth occupied while I’m also back here buried inside of you -- but sadly I haven’t learned it yet.” He chuckled. “That in mind, we’ll have to be a bit more _traditional_. How do you feel about being gagged, Cecilius?”  
  
Leander shivered -- Roland was slowly running the folded sash along the front of his thigh, showing him what was in store. He dragged it up Leander’s side, around his back and up over his shoulder, where he let it hang while he waited for a response.  
  
“I am _yours_ ,” Leander mewled in desperation. “Do with me what you wish, Master.”  
  
“Consider it done, pet,” Roland replied.  
  
Sliding his other hand around Leander’s shoulder, he grabbed hold of the dangling end of the sash. Leander bit down as Roland leveled it with his mouth. To keep it in place, Roland simply pulled the fabric taut behind Leander’s head and tied it into a clean knot. He gave the knot a quick tug to test it; it seemed sturdy enough, but it still gave Leander room to breathe.  
  
“Give me a thumbs up if you’re okay. Two bangs on the headboard and I’ll stop. Okay?”  
  
Leander’s thumbs up was even more enthusiastic than Roland thought it might be. He couldn’t help but grin. He still wasn’t quite sure why he’d been brought to this place, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t so he could sleep with his newfound comrades, but since the opportunity had presented itself…  
  
Using one of his legs to nudge Leander’s further apart, Roland pushed forward and -- _God_ , what was _in_ that lube? Suddenly, he understood why Leander had seemed a little disappointed when Roland had interrupted him before. At the core of his being was a sensation that he could only describe as somewhere between the warmth of sitting in front of a fireplace and the electrified feeling one gets when lightning is about to strike nearby. He sucked in a breath and gripped Leander’s hips for dear life as he started to thrust.  
  
The gag had been a good idea; Leander might have woken the entire South Quarter of Evermore otherwise -- and Roland would _not_ have blamed him. He was keenly aware of his own growls and grunts that he couldn’t seem to get a hold of despite his best conscious efforts.  
  
Roland noticed both of Leander's hands were on the headboard and realized he hadn't given him any instructions on what to do with them. What a bad Master he'd been!  
  
Still pumping steadily in and out, Roland pried the fingers of Leander's swordhand from the headboard. He pulled it back over Leander's shoulder to kiss his fingertips before he guided their hands lower, down to Leander's straining hard-on.  
  
“Take my hand -- show me how you like it,” said Roland.  
  
“Mmph,” Leander replied.  
  
Leander began to stroke himself. Roland moved along in tandem, while also still thrusting from behind, doing his best to match up the rhythm of both his hand and his hips. After a few moments of concentration, everything miraculously synchronized, and maybe it was that _wild lube_ , but it felt as if all the planets had aligned. Leander was practically singing behind his makeshift gag -- maybe praying to the Hydropolitan gods, Roland couldn't be sure. Suddenly he went silent, and Roland knew not to let up, that this was just the sea pulling back before the tsunami crashed back in against the shore.  
  
“ _Yes_ , pet, _come for me_ ,” Roland whispered to him.  
  
He didn't have to ask twice. Leander leaned back into him, moaning like an animal in heat. Roland felt a twitch beneath his hand, and then warmth flowing over his fingers.  
  
Leander glanced back at Roland over his shoulder. His face, flushed red as ruby hueblooms with ecstasy, was enough to send Roland straight over the edge.  
  
“Ohh _God_ , _Leander_ \--!”  
  
Roland bit down on Leander's shoulder to keep himself from hollering any further. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he wasn't supposed to use Leander's actual name -- but he was beyond caring. He shuddered as the feeling of hot static rose from the base of his spine. Even such a simple act of physical human contact after so long broke a dam inside of him, and he was momentarily overcome by a flood of emotions: Mainly desire and joy, but also a little sorrow, hidden somewhere underneath.  
  
He had needed this, hadn't he.  
  
Leander had mentioned _catharsis_ earlier, in speaking of his relationship with Queen Nerea. Maybe _that's_ what this was actually about: Release. _Letting go._ He had no idea if he would ever see his home again -- or what would await him there if he _did_ see it. Of course, he’d never put his home or his family out of his heart and mind completely. But if he planned to survive here, he would have to let go of home in little ways, and hang on tighter to the relationships he was making now.  
  
Like his connection to Evan, who reminded him so much of his own son.  
  
And to Leander, who was in ways both a mentee _and_ mentor -- a true and valued partner.  
  
Leander, who understood him in ways the others did not. _Could_ not.  
  
For just a moment, as Leander laid in Roland’s arms and they each caught their breath (and Roland regained feeling in his extremities), it was as if nothing and no one else existed. Not even this convoluted plan of theirs. Only one another and the night air of Evermore. And it was good.  
  
All good things came to ends, though, and after a time Roland felt Leander stir against him.  
  
“We should take our leave before daybreak…” He mumbled into Roland’s chest.  
  
“Yeah,” Roland pulled him close, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “I guess we should.”  
  
Leander reached for his robe. He set it aside on the bed rather than actually putting it on, and watched while Roland sat up, stretching.  
  
Roland’s hair was a bit of a mess, so he reached back to undo his ponytail, letting it go loose and wild for a moment before re-capturing it. He started to tie it back again, but felt Leander’s hand on his.  
  
“May I?” asked Leander.  
  
He felt a tear well up at the corner of his eye as he thought of his wife -- not how _she_ had brushed _his_ hair, because he’d had a proper crew cut as long as he’d known her, but of how _he_ had brushed _hers_. He knew well the intimacy in such an act.  
  
“I’d love it if you did, Leander.”  
  
They had no brush, but Leander managed to get the tangles out well enough with his fingers. Roland's heart swelled, his head abuzz with feeling as he melted into Leander's touch. Leander tied it back up into Roland’s usual ponytail and gave it a little tug.  
  
Roland shifted, turning around to look at Leander with an expression of calm bliss.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Of course, Roland.”  
  
A beat passed between them.  
  
“Guess we gotta get dressed sometime, huh?”  
  
“Sadly, I suppose we must, yes.”  
  
It didn’t take Roland long to collect his various articles of clothing and dress himself. He re-adjusted his cloak and began to walk towards the door.  
  
“Well. Unless there was anything else we needed to... _discuss_...I won’t keep you any later.”  
  
“Roland, wait.”  
  
He turned around to find Leander standing in the moonlight with only his breeches pulled back on.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“About this plan. I know that we devised it in this manner for the good of all -- particularly His Majesty. It’s only…How shall I put this?” Leander paused, choosing his words carefully. “I hid behind a mask for centuries, becoming the target of our citizens’ anguish for years. I did it all for the purpose of sparing my beloved Queen from taking on even more pain than that which she was already subjecting herself to. And I suppose, having done so myself, I see that same logic in this plan. I see that same drive to protect others from pain in _you_.”  
  
Roland took a breath to respond, but Leander raised a hand to stop him. He closed the distance between them, til he was but mere inches from Roland. He reached up and carefully, lovingly adjusted Roland’s cloak.  
  
“Please allow me to finish. All I wish to say regarding this is that I implore you not to lose yourself behind the mask. Certainly, one should support one’s friends, their land, and their sovereign -- but if it becomes too much to bear, please don’t hesitate to utilize your… _unicycle_.”  
  
Roland pulled Leander against him by his breeches’ waistband.  
  
“I appreciate your concern, Leander, really,” said Roland, smiling down at his companion. “I’ll remember to pack the unicycle on my journey.”  
  
“Good. And do remember to bring it back with you -- perhaps we could use it again. On your return to Evermore.”  
  
“Oh?” Roland raised an eyebrow. “Our _mysterious stranger_ won’t be making any more visits, so we’ll need a new scenario…”  
  
“I am certain we will think of something.” Leander smirked. “Or mayhaps we needn’t have a scenario at all?”  
  
“You mean we could just enjoy each other’s company? How novel.” Roland laughed. He looked to the window, where the moon was beginning to set. “It’s getting late. Early? Late? I don’t know anymore. Either way, we should go.”  
  
“But we’ve left a mess--”  
  
“And no one will be in here today to see it unless one of us lets them in. We've got that authority, remember? We can come back tonight. Come, pet, let’s go get some sleep.” Roland winked saucily and held out his hand.  
  
Leander bit his lip. He threw his shirt on, folded his robe over his arm, and took Roland’s hand, giving it a little squeeze as he did so.  
  
They left the room, making their way back down the hall, down the grand staircase, and through the inn-yard, only letting go of one another’s hands at the edge of it. Roland nodded to Leander, who gave a small bow in return, and the two parted ways under the cover of the remaining starlight.

 

\--~--

 

A few scant hours later, after barely making it through breakfast without falling asleep face-first into his porridge, Roland ran into Bracken in the Evermore Castle corridors.  
  
“Roland, hey! I didn't want to say anything at breakfast since you said this was _classified_ , but I've made some progress on those things you commissioned from me, if you want to come check 'em out.”  
  
“Sounds good -- I'd love to see them.”  
  
As they turned a corner, Roland could see Leander ahead chatting with one of his peers from the Spellworks.  
  
“You know, Roland, the strangest thing happened to me last night,” Bracken said, her eyebrow raised in suspicion. “I was having some phantom pains in my leg and I couldn't sleep, so I went for a quick run around town. I went past the new inn and I heard some _weird_ sounds coming from inside. Strangest animals I've ever heard!”  
  
She and Roland were within hearing range of Leander, who did _not_ turn around -- but Roland _did_ notice the bright blush blooming at his cheeks.  
  
“Wow, Bracken -- that sure is weird! Hopefully no critters have made their home in the inn before we've even opened it, huh? But just to be sure, I will go and check it out tonight myself.” Roland held his hand above her shoulder, ushering her _quickly_ down the hall and away from Leander. “You know, there was actually another commission I was hoping to talk to you about. A _personal_ one this time.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Do tell.”  
  
“Well, I was wondering -- have you ever heard of a _unicycle_ …”

**Author's Note:**

> I am 1000% weak to the Good Guy Gone Bad trope so Chapter 7 cranked my Roland Thirst up to 11 and I couldn't stop thinking that he was such a good actor during that part...surely he must have had some _practice_ beforehand. This was the result of my overthinking that, haha.
> 
> The title of the fic is a play on ["You Are the Ocean (And I'm Good at Drowning)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpOt2U8JwNo) by Phantogram, which is a pretty good Rolander song if you ask me.
> 
> Cecilius is Leander's name in the Japanese version of the game, as well as in several other language localizations.
> 
> If you need someone to yell with about NnK2, please don't hesitate to yell at me -- I need more NnK2 fandom friends. ♥


End file.
